Fifty Years of Freedom 

From Cabin to Congress 

, A Drama in Five Acts. 

by 

KATHERINE DAVIS TILLMAN 



Autho of Thirty Years of Freedom, Aunt Betsy's Thanksgiving:, 
Lincoln's Proclamation, etc.. etc. 



Published by the A. M. E. Book Concern, 
631 Finest., Philadelphia, Pa. 



Copyright 1910 



Price, - - 25 Cents 



Fifty Years of Freedom 

or 

From Cabin to Congress 

A Drama in Five Acts. 

by 

KATHERINE DAVIS TILLMAN 



Author of Thirty Years of Freedom, Aunt Betsy's Thanksgiving:, 
Lincoln's Proclamation, etc.. etc. 



Published by the A. M. E. Book Conceni, 
631 Pine St., Philadelphia, Pa. 



Copyright 1910 



Price, - - 25 Cents 






CHARACTERS. 



Benjamin BANNEKiiK Houston, 

An Ambitious Young Kentuckian 

Aunt Riioda A Southern Mammy 

LiNDY Aunt Rhoda's Ward 

Jake A Trifling Husband 

Sue ] 

LouiMiENiA ^ Aunt Rhoda"s Daughters 

Pansy ) 

>->, , „. > Aunt Rhoda's Sons 

(jLADSTONE J 

Colonel White A Gentleman of the South 

Miss Lou His Beautiful Daughter 

Robert White Her Suitor 

Ruth Pexn A Quaker Teacher 

PKEsn)EXT Xokton President Bayview University 

Arthur Norton His Son 

Prof. Cox 

PrOE. Weir ) ivr i r ^i n> u 

Prof. Minor [ Members of the Faculty 

Prof. Ward ^ 
Van Wert 

g?"'^^ I Students 

Stewart f 

Powell ^ 

George Neil A Successful Negro Lawyer 

Edith Neil Tlis Young Daughter 

Mrs. Neh. His Wife 

Ida Cami'iskll 

Julia Storm 

Maid 

Guests at the reception. *-' t- j r, ^ 

T.^P96-006728 



> PViends of Edith 



iCLD 23018 



Act 1 



Scene i. {Interior of Aunt Rhoda's cabin, calico curtains at zvin- 
don', Bible on center table, family portraits on zvall, por- 
traits of Douglass,. Lincoln, Bruce, Aunt Rlioda, a pleasant- 
faced zvoman of perhaps 45, is stirring cake in an old-fash- 
ioned ycllozv crock. Lindy, a pretty girl of 12, is holding 
Gladstone, and at the same time, attempting to read. Pansy, 
a girl of 8, is singing a plantation ditty. Louphenia, 10, is 
clapping her hands in time to the tune, and Lige barely 7, is 
xcatching the cake bozvl zvith hv.ngry longings.) 

['ansv {sings). — -"Juber dis and julier dat, 
Juber killed a yaller cat; 
Ain' yo' 'shame, yo" dirty dog, 
Dance this juber." 

Aunt Rhoda. — Why don' yo' children stop makin' so much 
noise? It's enough to wake up the dead, the way you uns go 
on. Why don' yo' clar out from under my feet anyhow. You 
alius as thick as Hies when you're not wanted. I don' look for 
you uns to get a blessed thing Chrismus 'cause you so hard- 
harded. 

LiGE {zvlii)iingly). — I want the bowl when you th.rough with it 
Mammy, Pansy had it the las' time. 

Pansy {indignantly) . — I didn't 'tall, Mammy, Lige had it his 
own self, didn't he Louphenia? 

Louphenia {zvitheringh). — Cose he did. 

Aunt Lou. — Here Lindy, put dat book down and get dese 
children out do's befo dey drive me plum crazy. Here's Miss 
Lou spectin' company fo' Chrismus, and dat trifling Sue ain' got 
mo'n haf the cakes baked. I clar to gracious. Sue can't get 
aroun' haf as good as her ole mammy wid all de rheumatism I 



4 Fjkty Years of Freedom. 

got in my jints. {Lindy tries to get the children out, when a 
rap is heard. Lindy opem the door and a bare-footed boy of 
fourteen staggers in. He has a bundle tied in red 'kerchief on 
his shoulders and around his hat is a band of black calico.) 

Aunt R. — Great head of the church, who is this? (sets cake 
bowl on table.) 

Ben. — Is this my Aunt Rhoda? {he sinks down in a chair as 
if exhausted.) 

Aunt R. (rnshes to Imn and lifts his head. He is a well-de- 
veloped lad, with a handsome face and speaks better English- 
than the average colored Southern boy). — It's Ben, my Sister 
Lucy Ann's baby boy, her only Hving child. I see the favor. 
Lindy han' me de cordial quick. Po' chile 's he's jus' played out. 
(Pours cordial down Ben's throat. He revives.) There now, he's 
comin' 'roun' alright. (Hugs Ben.) Yes this is yo' Aunt Rhoda. 
You favor Lucy Ann, up an' down. They say that a boy that 
favors his mammy is bo'n fo' good luck. How is Sister Lucy 
Ann anyhow, an' why didn't you sen' word you's comin'? I clar 
to goodness, you mos' took my bref, comin' in on me so sudden. 

Ben. — Mother's dead, Aunt Rhoda, and I haven't got anybody 
in the world but you. (Wipes eyes on coat sleeve.) 

Aunt R. — Lucy Ann dead? (Begins to cry. The children 
join her, except Lindy, ivho tries to quiet them.) Po' lam', tain't 
no mo' an' could be expected. She never was strong an' she's 
been ailing a long time. When did she die? 

Ben (zt'ipes eyes again on coat sleeve). — She's been dead three 
weeks to-day. She suffered like everything. She called me to 
the bed before she died and told me if they didn't treat me right, 
after she was dead, I could come to you. 

Aunt R. — Course you can stay with your Aunt Rhoda.. I'm 
po' as Job's turkey, an' he was so po' he had to lean agin the 
fence to balance hisse'f, but long as me an' the chillens got a 



Fifty Years of Freedom. 5 

piece of bread FH divide it with you, an' what I lack the Lord 
who's promised to look ofter the orphans, will make up. 

Ben. (puts hand in bosom and draivs out a package). — Aunt 
Rhody, mother sent you her ear-rings and breastpin an' a quilt 
she pieced while she's sick. There were some more of her things 
[ could have brought but Aunt Millie, the housekeeper and the 
rest of them took them and I couldn't get hold of them. 

Aunt R. (examining things). — I aint much han' fo' jewelry, 
but Fm goin' to wear these ear-bobs out of respect for Sister Lucy 
Ann. Po' Lucy Ann, I wish I'd a been there, when they was go- 
ing through her things, an' he'ping themse'ves. 

Ben. — Oh my poor head how it aches, I walked so far and I 
feel so faint. 

Aunt R. (suspiciously). — Walked? Did you tramp all the way 
here from Lucy Ann's? You run away that's what you's done. 
What you run away for? It's a blessin' twasn't cold or you'd froze 
to death sure. 

BEN.^'Cause mother told me to come to you if I wasn't treated 
right. Col. Thomas beat me like a dog for nothing and I ran off. 

Aunt R. — What did he beat you fo', I hope you didn't do noth- 
in' mean and ornery? 

Ben. — Why Aunt Rhody, I been working for Col. Thomas up 
at the big house long before mother got sick, waiting on him and 
tending to his horse, and he seemed to think a heap of me and 
always gave me his old papers and magazines when he was 
through with them, and Aunt Millie used to let me read some of 
the books out of the book-case when she was in a good humor. 

Aunt R. — Well, hurry up chile, for the lan's sake an' tell the 
res'. Don' go all aroun' Robin's Hood's barn befo' you tell what 
happened, yo' remin' me of yo' Uncle Jake's prayin'. He goes 
way to Jerusalem an' back befo' he gets through. 



6 Fih'TY Years ok Freedom. 

Ben. — Well, 'twasu't nothin' for him to get mad at anyhow. 
You know mother was always crazy about schooling herself and 
she's always urged me to study hard as I could at school, and I 
did and I always stood head of my classes. Well, 'twas a day or 
two after mother died and I picked up one of Col. Thomas's old 
newspapers and I read where some young colored man went from 
the South and worked his way tlirough one of the biggest white 
colleges in the North and now he's a rich lawyer practicing in 
Michigan and the paper said how everybody black and white was 
proud of him, because he worked his way up from the bottom, 
and all at once something seemed to say to mc, "Why don't you 
do that, Ben? You're not afraid of hard work," and it seemed like 
I could hear mother saying lo me like she used to, "Ben learn all 
you can and never be too lazy to work ami you'll get through the 
world, even if your poor mother does have to die and leave you 
alone." 

Aunt K. i7viping her eyes). — Ben Houston ain't you never 
coming to the point? 

Ben. — Yes'm, I'm most through. I was telling Aunt Millie and 
some of the rest of them about wjiat I'd read and what I'd like 
to do, and they told Col. Thomas that I was thinking about run- 
ning ofif and he called me up to the house and asked me about it, 
and when I told him I'd like to go, because I thought I'd have a 
better chance to get an education he got mad and said that all 
education was good for was to spoil Negroes for work, and we 
wasn't worth our salt anyhow, since Freedom. He asked me 
what good education would do me, and I said it would make a 
man of me, and then he said I was giving him impudence and he 
took the buggy whip and whipped me like everything, and he 
never had touched me when mother was living, and I knew he 
didn't have any right to whip me when I hadn't done anything, 
so I watched my chance and ran away. 

Aunt R.— That wasn't nothin' to beat yo' for if that was all. 



Fifty Years of Freedom. 7 

but you know there's plenty of white folks everywhere thinks just 
like him, that education spoils colored fo'ks fo' work an' I guess 
it do spoil some of 'em same's it does white folks. You was right 
to come, you don't liave to stay no where you don't want to unless 
you're bound out by the law. We're free now, thank God ! I 
don't know how you're going to get any schoolin' because the 
colored fo'ks haven't got any school round here 'cep'n de Sunday 
school Miss Lou carries on here in my cabin every Sunday, but 
Lindy ain't been to no other school and she reads to beat the 
band. 

Ben. — That would hardly do for me. Aunt Rhody, because I 
finished the school at home last year, and could have got a school 
to teach if mother had been well enough to leave. 

Aunt Rhoda. — Sake's alive, you sho' is sma't. Done finished 
school an' talkin' about goin' to college. 

LiNDY. — Aunt Rhoda, don't you think cousin Ben ought to have 
something to eat. 

Aunt R. — That's the born truth ! Get that piece of hog jole 
out of the cupboard and the sweet taters out of the ashes and sec 
if the hoe-cake ain't brown (Lindy goes out). Heah, Pansy, Lou, 
Phcny, Lige and Gladstone shake hands with your cousin Ben, 
(the children advance bashfully. Ben takes Gladstone on his 
knee). Now you's seen all the family 'cep'n yo' Uncle Jake, and 
my oldest girl Sue who works at the big house for Miss Lou and 
Colonel White. Set up Ben and eat. (Ben goes to the table and 
eats). Heah, children, take dis bread and clear out, (gives bread 
to children, exit all but Lindy, who sets more plates on the table 
and remains interested in the conversation). 

Ben. — Isn't Lindy my cousin too? 

Aunt R. — No, Lindy is Jake's niece, Celia's girl. Her mother's 
dead and she ain't got nobody to look after her but me, but you 
can call her cousin jes' the same as you do the res' de chillen. 



8 Fifty Years ok FReeooNf. 

LiNPY. (throwing her arms around Aunt R's H^r^).^And Aunt 
Rhoda is so good to me. 

Bkn. — Aunt Rhody, you've got a big heart! (Voice is heard 
outside singing. Enters Jack). 

Jake. — Hello, there ole woman, didn' you forgit to blow a din- 
ner horn? 

Aunt R. — Couldn't you tell whether the horn was blowed or 
not? 

Jake. — De way my insides feel it orter blowed whether it did 
or not. 

Aunt R. — You'll never die in debt to your stomach Jake Jones, 
you don't study 'bout a livin' thing but eatin' an' possum huntin'. 

Jake. — Possum mighty good ole lady and when you bring him 
out of de oven, he's cooked good enuf fo' de president of the 
United States to eat. {sees Ben). Why who's this? 

Aunt R. {mollified). — It's Lucy Ann's boy Ben. Po' Lucy 
Ann's dead and he's come to stay with us. Jus' think my po' sis- 
ter's gone and I didn't know a thing about it. {ivipes eyes). 

Jake. — Dat's what dat dog's been doin' a howlin' 'round dis 
place fo' de las' month, well she suffered a long time, sho' Ben, 
chile, you're welcome to our po' cabin. We'll try to fin' you a 
bite to eat and a bunk at night as long as you's willing to stay. 

Ben. — Thank you, Uncle Jake, all I want is a chance to go to 
school and learn something. I'll try not to to give you and Aunt 
Rhody any trouble, I can do lots of work. 

Jake, {aside). — He is de boy, I'm lookin' fo' for Colonel White 
certny do impose on my constitution, making me work so hard. 
Dat's a good sperit, Ben, and if you feel rested enuf you might 
come out to de fiel' dis afternoon. 

Aunt R. — 'Deed he ain't going to no fiel' to-day. Don't you 



Fifty Years of Freedom. 9 

see the chile's all played out tramping all the way from Henry 
County way heah ? 

Jake.— Alright Rhoda, I didn't mean no harm, (walks to table, 
sits and helps himself). By de way. Rhody, I hearn a pow'ful 
piece of news to-day. 

Aunt R. — Von don't say, I hope none of the colored folks got 
in any trouble. 

Jake. — Oh, no, it's good news, or you'll say so anyhow. A 
Quaker lady is here frum de North and going to start a school 
heah for de cullud fo'ks. 

Li.XDY. {jumps up). — Oh I am so glad. 

Bex. — Just what I was wishing. 

Aunt R. — Who's a telling you, Jake ? 

Jake. — Why St. Nichols, Aunt Mandy's daughter's boy Ike. 

ArxT R. — Well his mouth ain't no prayer-book, but it may be 
so. Where they think they going to have it? 

Jake. — Dey dont know but dey wants to have it at de Cross 
Road's Church. 

Aunt R. (meditatively). — I wonder if they's asked the white 
fo'ks if they kin start the school. Kinder late in de season too, 
right heah at Chrismas. 

Jake, (gesticulating). — What dey gwine ask de white fo'ks fo'? 
Ain't we cullud fo'ks free? Is de 'Mancipation Proclamation 
passed in Congress or not? Ain't we free same as de white fo'ks? 
Catch me askin' a white man whether I can do anything or not? 

(Col. White from outside thunders) Jake. (Jake jumps up 
from the table zvith astonishing alacrity.) 

Jake. — Suh ? 

Col. White, (calls).— You get that field finished up this after- 
noon, you hear, you lazy, black rascal? 



10 FiiTY Years ov Freedom. 

Jake. — Yes, suh, yes, siih, I'm comin' Colonel (starts out in a 
hurry). 

Aunt R.— Land sakes alive! I ain't got that cake baked. (Hur- 
ries around and begins to stir the cake.) Clar out from here, de 
las' one of you, or I'll skin you alive! (children scamper righ* 

and left). 

(A rap is heard.) 

(Amtt R. runs out zvith cake-bowl, comes back iviping her 
hands.) I wonder who on earth's comin' here now. (opens door, 
Ruth Penn the Quaker teacher stands on the threshold. She is 
attired in the gray Quaker garb and is a sweet-faced woman of 
30.) 

Ruth. — This is Friend Rhoda, I know. 

Aunt R. — Yes, ma'am, Fse a friend to everybody, sho's you 
bo'n, and you're de Quaker lady the Lord has sent to lead us po' 
cullud fo'ks from darkness into light. Come in. 

(Ruth comes in. Sits down. Dusts rocker with her apron.) 
The good Lord knows, I hope and trust that the school will be 
started. There's just a few colored fo'ks aroun' here an' all of 
'em po' an' not able to pay a teacher, an' so we ain't had no 
school. 

Ruth. — Yes, I am Ruth Penn, and I have come from my home 
in New England to labor here among your people. I know that 
our work is apt to meet with opposition and I thought perhaps 
thee could give me some advice. This is Friend White's land, 
thee is on is it not? 

Aunt R. — Yes, ma'am, almost far as you kin see looking to- 
ward the South is Col. White's Ian' and me an m'os' all my fo'ks 
used to belong to the Whites, and I was the chillen's nurse after 
mammy died and I never could make up my min' to leave the old 
place. Course I might leave an' do better an' then agin I mightn't. 

Ruth. — So thee has been in the family all thy life and nursed 
the children? Are they all living? 



Fii'TY Years of Frekdom. ii 

Aunt R. — No, there's just two chillen left, the one they call 
Lady Mary and our Miss Lou. 

Ruth. — Lady Mary ? Are they English ? 

Aunt R. — Mistress was English born and bred, and after she 
died one of her English cousins came over here and married Miss 
Mary, and after his brother died, it made her a Lady Mary, and 
Ihey call him Lord Clyde but I think that's downright heathenish 
to call any body Lord here on earth, and I've always been expect- 
ing to hear of something dreadful to happen to him for taking the 
Lord's name that way. 

Ruth, {smiling). — Thee must be a little bit of a Quaker, Friend 
Rhoda. We do not use titles for ourselves or others. So the mis- 
tress died. Were there any sons? 

Aunt R. — Yes, she died heart-broken over losing her two boys, 
master Louis and master John, the two handsomest boys in the 
whole country, chillen Fd nursed ever since they were born, got 
killed the same day fighting in the Rebel Army. Mistress was 
always good as an angel and she hoped and prayed all the time 
that the colored fo'ks would all be free without any war, and 
when the word came and they was killed she went to bed and 
never got up. 

Ruth. — Time brings about many sad changes. I asked not from 
idle curiosity but because I would know the disposition of the 
people before I appeal to them in aid of the school. 

Aunt R. — Yes, there's just three left. Lady Mary in England, 
Col. White who's head's fas' blossomin' fo' the grave, and Miss 
Lou, the baby chile, dat Fd give my last drop of blood for, she's 
so dear to me. 

Ruth. — Do you think I can enlist their efforts in starting the 
school? 

Aunt R. — Miss Lou's all right. She's just like mistress. She 



12 Fifty Years of Freedom. 

loves the colored people an' she'd go right in and teach herself 
if Col. White would let her. She could do it too, 'cause she went 
oflf to New Orleans to school when she wasn't out of short dress- 
es jes 'bout 13 or 14 years old, and she's got a big education! She 
can do two or three kinds of talkin' 'sides what she talks to us, 
and she's always talkin' about helpin' dc colored fo'ks but Col. 
White, it's accordin' how you catch him. Sometimes he's good 
as pie and 'notlier time he rears and pitches like a lion he do. 

Ruth. — You still work for them. 

Aunt R. — Yes'm. I does the washing and mending for the rent 
of the cabin and a garden patch, and Jake my ole man and my 
daughter Sue, they's hired by the month. They don't get much 
though, 'cause all Col. White's got is some land and the rent he 
gets frum it don't hardly keep 'em going. Miss Lou she done 
got a little money of her own left from mistress' private fortune, 
but la me nothin' ain't like it used to be befo' the war. Why 
Christmas the big house would be full of company and down in 
the colored fo'ks quarters there'd be as much fun as up at the big 
house. 

Ruth. — Well, friend Rhoda, I think thee had better go and 
speak to Friend White first and ask if we may have the school 
here on his land and I will follow on later and see what he says, 
will thee do this? 

Aunt R.— It'll be mos' like Daniel going in the lion's den I 
'spect, but I'll go, and you pray that the Lord of Hosts go with 
me. 

Ruth. — If anybody can win him it will be thee, my good wom- 
an, his children's nurse and trusted friend. Never fear, the 
Lord of Hosts shall arm the Right ! 

(Exit Aunt R. and Ruth, enter Lindy and Ben.) 

LiNDY. — That's the Quaker lady who's going to start the school. 
Ben. — Yes, I've seen pictures of them in books. They used to 



Fifty Years of Freedom. 13 

carry slaves over the underground railroad when they were run- 
ning away from the South. 

LiNDY. (coming close to Ben). — What, did they have a railroad 
under the ground? 

Ben. — It wasn't a sure enotigli railroad, it was just kind white 
people like the Quaker teacher who took poor colored people in 
who were ru'ining away from slavery and helped them on their 
way. 

LiNDY. — I love kind people don't you Cousin Ben ? 

Ben. — Yes, that's why I love you. The rose is red, the violets 
blue, sugar's sweet and so are you. 

LiNDY.^ — Oh Cousin Ben, do you love me already? I love you 
too, and Fm sorry for you. 

Ben. — Yes, I mean it Lindy. Fm only a poor colored boy, but 
I am going to work hard, study hard and make a man of myself 
so I can help my people. 

LiNDY. — Oh, Cousin Ben, like Frederick Douglass? 

Ben. — Yes, and like Senator Bruce, Bishop Turner and other 
great Negroes. I had a colored teacher at home who used to 
talk to me about them all the time. I don't think Fll get much 
chance here, and if I get a chance Fm going to the North and 
find the college that colored lawyer graduated from. 

FiNDY. — Oh, what would I do, Cousin Ben. You promised to 
help me with my books. 

Ben. — Stay here with Aunt Rhoda and learn all you can little 
Cabin Princess. Girls don't have to know as much as boys and 
when I get through school Fll come back and take you away with 
me. Do you want to wear my mother's ring so you won't forget. 

Findy. — Yes, Cousin Ben. {Ben puts ring on Liiidy's finger.) 

Aunt R. (calls). — Lindy. 

Lindy. (runs out). — Yes'm. 

Curtain. 



14 Fii'TY Yi'ARs or Freedom. 



ACT [[. 

Scene ir. — (Colonel IVhite's dining room, ivith a viezv of the 
kitcheti ivJien the door opens in the back-ground. Sue, a neat 
looking girl of eighteen in tvhite sewing apron and cap is 
setting the breakfast table. Colonel White is at his desk read- 
ing the morning paper. Enters Aunt Rhoda in freshly laun- 
dered dress and apron, with tray on -which are tivo covered 
dishes.) 

Aunt R. (curlcsyi)ig) . — Good mornin', good morniii', Colonel. 
How you fcclin' ihis fiiK- mornin'? You's lookin' miglity fine 
sure. 

CoL. W. — Pretty well, pretty well, Rhoda, for an old fellow. 
How's your rheumatism. Sit down there. Sue does well, but 
we miss you in the kitchen, nobody can beat your cooking, Rhoda. 

Aunt R. — Thank you suh. Cooking alius did come handy to 
me some how. (sits down.) 

Col. W.— Well, when it comes to cooking and singing, your 
folks are hard to l)eat. 

Aunt R. — My rhematism ain't bothered mc much fo' the las' 
day or two, an' I's feelin' so spry this mornin' that I got up a little 
earlier, and fi.xed up something a little extra fo' yo' breakfast. 
Heah, Sue put these dishes in the warming oven, I didn't know 
you'd be so late with yo' breakfast. Keep thein hot till the Colonel 
is ready for his breakfast. (Lixit Sue with dishes.) 

CoL. W.— What did you fi.x for me Rhoda? 

Aunt R. — Oh. 'twant much. I jes' fried you a young chicken 
with the cream gravy you liked and baked you a pan of light 
rolls. 

Col. W. — Whv Rhoda that was verv kind of vou 1 am sure 



Fu'TY Years of Freebom. 15 

Is there anything I can do for you? Children all well? 

Aunt R. (curtseys again).— Yes, suh, all well an' able to eat 
all they kin git. 

Col. VV. — I repeat Rhoda, is there anything you wish. Is Jake 
in any new trouble? 

Aunt R. (tossing her head angrily). — Nothing but what 1 can 
settle. He went to town and came back full as a tick, but I wait- 
ed till he went to bed and then I used the does stick on him un- 
til he was sober as anybody. 

Col. \V. (laughs heartily). — Rhoda, you are a great disciplinar- 
ian. 

Aunt R. (stitfly). — What's that you callin' me? I hope you 
ain't callin' me names 'bout that triflin' Jake Jones. 

Col. W. (laughing more heartily than ever). — No indeed, I'm 
complimenting you, Rhody, I mean that you manage Jake and the 
children well, but are you sure there isn't something I can do for 
ycu this morning? Lou was telling me you wanted a new red 
table-cloth and knives and forks for Christmas. Is tliat what's 
worrying? 

Aunt R. — No, suh, the Lord knows I ain't got that red table- 
cloth to study 'bout, I needs it, but I won't die if I don't get it. 
But now I come to think of it, there is something T might as well 
as ask you about while I'm up here. 

Col. W. — I knew you wanted something Rhody, you was always 
a first class diplomat. Alright, what is it. 

Aunt R. — Who owns the Ian' the Cross Road's Church's on, 
Colonel White, you or Mr. Rol)ert White? 

Col. W. — WMiy I own it of course. I thought you knew that 
years ago. It's just this side of the boundary line, you may 
thank your stars for it, for Mr. Robert never would have let you 
had a church on his land. He's not a churchman and don't be- 
lieve in churches. 



i6 Fifty Years of Freedom. 

Aunt R. — I always thanked my stars that my folks belong to 
yoiir family instead of Mr. Robert's. Well, then if you own the 
Ian' I know it will be alright. 

Col. W. {looking up from his paper). — What will be alright, 
Rhoda ? 

Aunt R. — Why a school for the colored people that a Quaker 
lady's come from the North to start for the colored people. 

CoL. W. — Quaker lady nothing ! Do you suppose ladies of any 
kind are going to leave their homes and come and live among 
Negroes to teach them? No, they have better sense. No, I'm 
not going to have any school started here. The Negroes don't 
need any school, they're not worth the powder and lead it would 
take to blow them up with, now. We don't need any educated 
niggers around here, (stalks about room in a passion.) We need 
Negroes to work the land, that's what we need ! 

Aunt R. (starts to speak and zvipes eyes on apron. Sue comes 
to door peeps in and listens anxiously. Enters Miss Lou. She a 
girl of fragile build zvith brown hair and eyes. She wears a rid- 
ing habit and has roses in her hands. She is pretty and re- 
fined.) 

Miss Lou. — Good morning, papa, (kisses him.) Isn't it a glor- 
ious morning. The birds are singing in the hedges and all the 
world seems happy. I had a splendid ride. Birdie still goes a 
little stifif but she can't help it, poor thing. Too bad she got that 
fall while I was in New Orleans. Am I late? Well, here is my 
peace offering. Aren't they beautiful? (Holds out Rowers.) Out 
of the conservatory. Oh, how I love flowers, (goes back of cen- 
ter and calls Sue.) Sue, bring me some roses so that I can ar- 
range tliese flowers. 

Sue. (pokes her head in from kitchen). — Yes, Miss Lou. 

Miss Lou. (suddenly perceives Aunt R.) Oh, here's mammy. 
(Hugs her.) Why, what's the matter with you, mammy? 



Fifty Ykars of Freedom. 17 

Col. W. — She's pouting because I told her I wasn't going to 
have some meddling Quaker woman here from the North starting 
a school for the lazy niggers around here, on my land. Sue 
bring in the breakfast. {Sue brings in breakfast.) 

Miss Lou. (^placing flowers in vases). — Oh, papa, it must be 
right if mammy wants it, I never knew mammy to make a mis- 
take. I've often wished I had time to start a day school for 
them. The years I spent at the school in New Orleans convinced 
me that education is good for everybody. 

Aunt R. — I don't want my children to grow up in ig'nance if 
they ain't white I expected the Draines and the Peterses and all 
of the res' of the po' trash 'roun heah to be against having the 
school, but I didn't expect it of Colonel White, faithful as his 
colored fo'ks always been to him. 

Sue. — Breakfast is ready, if you please, sir. (Col. IV. and Miss 
Lou seat themselves they bow their heads for a silent grace and 
begin to eat. As Col. White looks at the dishes, Rhoda has pre- 
pared for him, his sternness relaxes.) 

Col. W. — Oh, I don't care, have the school if ymi want to, but 
don't think any of you are going to slack work to go, and me 
paying you wages. 

Aunt R. — Thank the Lord! 

Miss Lou. — Papa, you're a darling. 

Aunt R. — Good mornin', I must be getting back to the cabin. 
CoL. W. (tossing her a half dollar). — Here treat yourself, 
Rhoda. you gained your point as I expected yon would. 

Aunt R. (smiling. and slipping the coin in her pocket).- — Thank 
you. Colonel, you made me feel mighty dubious sir, mighty du- 
bious, I tell you. 

Miss Lou. — How are you getting along with the Christmas- 
baking mammy? I couldn't help you and Sue any yesterday. I 



i8 FitTY Ykars or Freedom:. 

was so busy with my Christmas gifts. It's a burden to have s<3 
many relatives and friends at holiday times. 

Aunt R.— Everything baked but the pound cake. When the 
fo'ks comin'? 

Miss Lou. — Oh, I guess they'll be here in time for dinner to- 
morrow. Cousin Robert sent word that he would be here in time 
for breakfast, but the others will come later. Here take this can- 
dy to Gladstone, {reaches plate front table. Aunt R. takes it 
and departs. A rap is heard. Sue goes to door at left of stage.) 

Sue. — Colonel White, there's a lady to see you. 

>CoL. W.— Who is it? 

■ Sue. — I don't know, sir. She's a strange looking lady. 

Cql, W.— Tell her to come in. {Enters Ruth Penn. Col. W. 
and Miss LvU ^i^^- Col. W. bows gallantly.) 

Col. W.— T am Colonel White, and you are— 

Ruth.— Ruth Peim, if thee please. I am sorry to disturb thee 
at thy breakfast hour. 

Miss Lou {extending hand).— Oh, never mind that! I am the 
Colonel's daughter Louise. Won't you sit up and have breakfast 
with us? 

Ruth.— Oh no, T will sit here while you finish- I am glad to 
know thee both. 

Col. W.— You wished to see me ? 

Ruth.— Yes, if thee please; I came to thank thee for thy kind 
permission to start a school for the colored pe»ple here on thy 
land. Friend Rhoda has just told me the good news! 

CoL. W. {angrily).— I never could get around letting Rhoda 
have her own way, but I'm not in favor of the school. The Ne- 
groes need hoes and rakes more than they do spelUng books. 



Fii'TY Years of Freedom. 19 

Ruth. — Friend White, have not these people souls? 

Col. W. — I don't know whether they have or not, madam; 
there are those who say not. 

Ruth. — But thee does not believe such a wicked thing, I am 
sure. Thou knowest that they are human beings like ourselves, 
and that, having been turned adrift without education, money or 
friends, they need kind Christian people to live with them and 
teach tlrem. 

Miss Lou. — Oh, yes, that is true. So my dear mother used to 
speak. We shall be friends, I know. 

CoL. W. — And, Miss Penn, those who associate with the Ne- 
groes here in the South, for any purpose whatever, should realize, 
before doing so, that such a course of action ostracises them from 
the society of Southern people. 

Ruth. — We Quakers follow Christ, and our work often leads 
tis among the lowly. Your sweet daughter believes this, for I 
learn that she has started a Sunday-school among the poor col- 
ored people. Again T thank thee for the opportunity to open the 
school. 

CoL. W. — I gave my word to Rhoda to satisfy her; but, madam, 
I have no sympathy for those who come from the North to teach 
us our duty to our Negroes. I am a plain man, and I speak as I 
feel. 

Ruth (gently). — Thou art blinded by the gods of this world. 
Thee will see differently some day. (She glides out.) 

CoL. W. (pushing back his plate). — Another Northerner down 
here on a fool's errand, wanting Negroes sent to school and put 
on an equality with the whites. Before the war it was against 
our law to teach them to read and write even, and thus we kept 
them in their places. 

Miss Lou. — But, papa, listen. The colored people were brought 



20 Fii-TY Years of Fkeeuom. 

to this country against their will and made to toil like beasts of 
the field, to educate us, clothe us and keep us in luxury, while 
they were kept in ignorance and poverty ; and I think that the 
South owes the colored people a chance, and a fair one at that! 

Col. W. — Lou, you're getting beside yourself. Much learning 
doth make thee mad. Are these the principles you imbibed while 
off at school? Whose Negroes were better treated than mine? 
I believe in treating the Negro well as long as he behaves himself, 
just as I do my horse, my dog or any other animal. 

Miss Lou. — Oh, papa, you are wrong to speak so ! Does not 
the Bible say, "Out of one blood God created all the nations of 
the earth"? Is not the Negro our brother? 

Col. W. — Here, Lou, this is enough of your impertinence ! 
Don't presume on my love and try me too far ! The idea of your 
thinking that a Negro could ever be equal to a wliite man ! Out 
of one blood indeed! And is the proud Anglo-Saxon blood in- 
deed the same as that of the inferior African? Haven't the Ne- 
groes owned the continent of Africa for centuries, and do they 
not still live there in an uncivilized state? 

Miss Lou. — History icUs us of a time when the Angles and 
Saxons were equally rude and barbarous. It was Christianity 
that tamed the wild Saxons and Angles. Let us give the Negro 
all of the advantages of Christian civilization before we say that 
he is incapable of reaching the same heiglits. 

CoL. W. — That I should have lived to hear a daughter of mine 
express such views! I'll not stay here to be insulted so. {Starts 
off.) 

Miss Lou. — Oh, papa, do not be angry with me ! I beg your 
pardon if I have offended you. 

CoL. W. — Say no more, miss; say no more! (Goes out and 
slams the door.) 



Fifty Years of Freedom. 21 

Miss Lou (sadly). — What have I gained but my father's deep 
displeasure? He is unreasonable on this question. Sue, you may 
clear away the table now. 

(Enters Sue, who remcwes disltes quickly and puts cover on 
the table.) 

Miss Lou. — Bring my sewing basket, Sue. To-morrow is 
Christmas, you know, and I have some gifts to finish. (^Sue 
brings basket. Miss Lou takes out sezving and begins to sew.) 
Have ynu finished that book I lent you, Sue? 

Sue. — Yes'm. It was a fine book, Miss Lou. 

Miss Lou. — Yes, it is a prime love story, St. Elmo. I read it 
twice in New Orleans. I don't think T could love a man like St. 
Elmo: could you. Sue? 

Sue.— Law me! T don't know; T ain't never been in com- 
pany. 

Miss Lou (sighing). — Too bad there aren't some nice young 
fellows around. Ell have to hunt you a beau. 

Sue. — I don't need none. I want to go to school and learn to 
be a teacher. 

Miss Lou. — A teacher? Why, Sue, you'll have to study hard. 
Ell help you nights before we go to sleep. Ell do my own hair 
while you study. 

Sue. — No'm, I love to do your hair. You've got a beau. I 
reckon he'll be over bright and early to-morrow. 

Miss Lou. — My Cousin Robert? Yes, I s'pose he will. Papa 
and Uncle Robert are dead set on our marrying, but every time 
T see Robert I get more out of the notion. 

Sue. — Mr. Robert's nice-looking, but they say he's got a bad 
temper. 

Miss Lou.— Yes, the White temper. I know all about it. But 
it isn't that that keeps me from liking him. I like somebody else. 



22 Firrv Years ot* Freedom. 

Sue.— Why, Miss Lou ! Who? 

Miss Lou. — I don't know so much about him, only that his 
father is the president of a big college in Michigan, and the young 
man was the youngest professor in the faculty. He was a nephew 
of our president at the New Orleans school. 

Sue. — What's his name. Miss Lou? 

Miss Lou. — Don't you ever tell, Sue. His name is Arthur 
Norton. 

Sue. — Where do he live? 

Miss Lou. — At Bayview, Michigan. I only saw him a few 
times, but he seemed to like me. But oh, well, I don't suppose 
we'll ever meet again! (Sighs.) 

Sue. — Was he good-looking. Miss Lou? 

Miss Lou. — Handsome! He had such kind gray eyes and such 
polished manners. But my ! papa would never allow him to come 
here. All his folks were, abolitionists. 

Sue. — You don't say. 
{Footsteps are heard.) 

Miss Lou. — Sue, you can have that sprigged lawn of mine. I 
think it will just fit you. (Lays finger on lips.) Remember! 

Sue. — Yes'm. 

(Enter Col. IV. and Robert W. Exit Sue.) 

CoL. W. (in good humor, apparently; rubbing his hands to- 
gether). — I met Robert coming over, and I returned back with 
him. Make yourself at home, Robert. I'm going to hunt Sue 
and order up your breakfast. (Exit Col. IV.) 

Robert (crosses over to Lou; takes her hands). — And how is 
my fair cousin this Christmas Eve morning? The roses in ytour 
conservatory are not more fair to my eyes 



Fifty Years of Freedom. 23 

Miss Lou. — Fie, Cousin Robert! You were ever an arch flat- 
terer. 

Robert. — A man may not flatter when hi.s whole being throbs 
with love, as mine does for you. 

Miss Lou (zvithdraws hands). — Have I not told you it is in 
vain for you to speak thus? It can never be as you wish. 

Robert. — Oh, say not never, dear cousin. Let me wait awhile. 
Answer me not now. You have changed since you went to New 
Orleans. I thought once you liked me. 

Miss Lou. — Oh, Cousin Robert, I do; you are all the brother 
I have ; but that is all. Rachel Draine is single yet. Why not 
court her? 

Robert. — Lou, do not trifle with me. I have your father's con- 
sent, and I will marry you in spite of yourself. 

(Enters Col. White; sits at desk; takes up letters and begins 
to read.) 

Col. W. (looks up from letter in his hand). — Ah, here is a 
letter from Colonel Thomas, asking about a Negro boy who ran 
away from his place a short time ago, and his whereabouts have 
been made known by some of the servants. He says the fellow 
is very rude and impudent, by reason of too much schooling, but 
he wishes him returned and he will be responsible for the cost. 
(The door ledding into the kitchen is ajar, and Sue listens.) He 
says further that the boy was given to him by his mother, who is 
dead, and he can claim him by law. 

Miss Lou. — It is Ben, mammy's nephew. 

Robert. — And do you keep here such a character? 

Coiv. W. — I see little of the boy. He has been working around 
here with Jake, but I liked his appearance and had thought to 
hire him to help Sue about the house and accompany Lou on her 
drives. 



24 Fu'Ty YivArs ot* Freedom. 

Miss Lou. — That would be well. Ben is not rude and impu- 
dent. He is mammy's own sister's child, and came to her at her 
sister's dying request. 

Robert. — But surely you will oblige Colonel Thomas, our rich- 
est and most influential neighbor, and return the boy? His son 
John visits me, comes New Year's. Send the boy back by him. 

Col. W. — It may be the best thing to do. Colonel Thomas and 
I have business interests, and it is useless to quarrel about such 
a thing as sending the boy home. (Sue disa(>f>eays.) 

Lou. — I think he could not have been well treated. He was 
bruised from being beaten, ragged from head to foot, and half 
dead from his weary journey. , 

Robert. — Well, what would you, fair cousin — that he should 
come robed in a velvet gown, riding on a white charger? Do 
not rags and lashings belong to those of his class? 

Miss Lou. — Cousin Robert! 

CoL. W. — You will never win Lou by talking thus. She has 
strange notions about Negroes and the way they should be 
treated. 

Robert. — She has been shut up in school too long. When she 
has been home longer she will again think as we do. 

Miss Lou. — I never thought as you do. 

Robert. — Well, do not let us quarrel in the season of Christ- 
mas cheer and good will. Are you as fond of riding as you 
used to be? 

Miss Lou. — Yes, if anything, more so. 

Robert. — I hope, then, my Christmas present to you has not 
been ill chosen. I've a pretty mare outside awaiting your inspec- 
tion. Will you come out and see him? 



Fii'TY Years of Freedom. 25 

Col. W.— Of course she will. Come. I'm going to take an- 
other peep at her myself. 

{Exit all. Enter Ben and Sue.) 

Ben. — So Mr. John is to take me back to Colonel Thomas' at 
New Year's. Well, he won't find me here to take. I'm going 
on to the North. I hafe to leave Aunt Rhoda and you and Lindy 
and the rest of the children and Miss Lou, but mother used to 
say where there's a will there's a way, and if you trust in God 
and do right you'll come out all right. I've got to try that mare 
for Miss Lou, and maybe that will be my chance. (Exit Ben 
hurriedly.) 

Sue. — I'll tell mammy first chance I get. It's mighty resky 
for Ben to go so far from home. 

(Re-enter Col. W., Robert and Miss Lou.) 

Robert. — Since you have refused my gift, I think I had better 
relieve you of my presence also. 

Miss Lou. — I am sorry. Cousin, but I could not accept it. But 
you must stay. It's a pretty sight to see mammy and her family 
come in after their Christmas gifts in the early morning, each 
one yelling, "Chrismus gif. Colonel! Chrismus gif. Miss Lou!" 

Coi,. W. — Yes, it is fun to see them, though it brings back sad 
old memories of other days. 

Robert. — I hardly think I shall stay. What about the boy? 
Will you send him back by me? I have a notion to spend the 
day with John Thomas. 

Miss Lou. — Oh, no! 

CoL. W. — Why not, if he is to go at all? You are hard to 
please to-day. 

Miss Lou. — 'Tis not right. 

Col. W. — I'll call him in and question him. (Exit Col. IV.) 



26 Fifty Ykars of Freedom. 

Robert. — Promise you will try to love me, and all shall be as 
you will. I will leave the boy. 

Miss Lou. — I am a White too, Cousin Robert, and I have a 
mind and will of my own, and I say, once and for all, No! 

Curtain. 



^^^^ 



Fifty Yrars oi< Freedom. 27 



ACT IIT. 

SCENE III. Bayview College. President's oMce. Prof. Norton, 
Secretary of the Faculty, is at his desk. Ben raps on the' 
door.) 

Prof. N. — Come ! (Enters Ben, in poor but clean clothing. 
He carries his fezv old shabby books.) Well, my lad, what can 
[ do for you to-day? 

Ben. — If you please, sir, I came to enter the university. 

Prof. N. (astonished). — You don't mean it! 

Ben. — Yes, sir. I heard about this school down in Kentucky 
I short time ago, and I made up my mind to graduate from this 
ichool if I lived. 

Prof. N. (smiling). — I feel complimented by your selecting 
ny alma mater. How did you happen to settle on the school, 
iid you say? 

Ben. — It's almost like a fairy tale, sir. I just happened to pick 
jp a piece of old newspaper that told about a young colored fel- 
ow that had worked his way here from the South and gradu- 
ited from this college, and how proud everybody was of him, 
ind how he became a successful lawyer. 

Prof. N. — You mean George Neil. Yes, the university is justly 
)roud of him. We hope to see him a judge some day. He is a 
:redit to us. 

Ben. — The paper said the white people was as proud of him 
IS the colored ones, and that is what inspired me to want to 
:ome. I want to be something too. 

Prof. N.— Good ! But seriously, my boy, sit down here and 
et me talk to you. How old are you, and what is your name? 



28 FuTY YiCAus oi' Fricicdom. 

Ben. — Ben Houston, sir ; and since Miss Lou told me aboi 
Benjamin Bannecker, the Black astronomer, I thouglit Fd ca 
my name Benjamin Bannecker Houston, if you don't mind. 

Pkok. N. (^starting). — Miss Lou — who No, I have no ol 

jection to that name, I am sure. And your age? 

Ben. — Going on sixteen now, sir. Miss Lou and Aunt Rhod 
both said I was so big for my age nobody'd hardly believe I wan 
older. I was fourteen when I left Colonel White's place to com 
here. 

Pkok. N. — Colonel White! 1 have heard of the Whites c 
Kentucky. Ben, it takes a number of years and a good deal c 
money to go through a school like this, and there would be 
lot of preparatory work before you could begin to work for 
degree. 

Ben. — -Ml I want is just a chance, sir. T don't care how bar 
I have to work. Couldn't I work my way through, sir? 

Prof. N. — I don't know. I must talk with father. H the fac 
ulty is willing to admit you, it means that you must have a grej 
deal of help to enter even the lowest classes of such a universit 
as ours, with a view to graduating. However, a boy with you 
grit should be encouraged. Have you had any Latin, algebra o 
physics? 

Ben. — Yes, sir, Fve had a pretty fair start in all three. The 
didn't have it in our school at home, but our teacher had bee 
through the book and he helped me nights. 

Prof. N. — Gocd for him, and you too! Here! (Hands exam 
ination sheets.) Take these blanks (zvrites hurriedly) and thi 
note, and go to that house over there across from the campu; 
and my mother will give you some dinner; and after you hav 
eaten, write out the answers to these questions and bring ther 
back to me. (Exit Ben.) Such perseverance would do credi 
to the proudest Anglo-Saxon blood. Heard of this universit 



Fii'TY Years of Freedom. 29 

lown there in Kentucky, and came here seeking an education, 
'oor, despised African race, there must be something great in 
ou, or you would not in the face of such discouraging circum- 
tances make such heroic' attempts to rise ! Kept in a state of 
bject slavery for more than two centuries, the moment the pres- 
ure is removed, up they spring, inquiring the way to the light 
f civilization. Truly we owe this people a chance! Miss Lou! 
"an Ben's Miss Lou be the beautiful Southern girl I met at New 
)rleans three years ago? She was very young then, but had 

mind as beautiful as her face. Her friends took pains to tell 
le that she was engaged to her cousin, and I have tried to for- 
et her; but alas! "Her bright smile haunts me still." It must 
e my Miss Lou, for she lived out from Louisville and her 
ather's name was White. I'll see the boy again and question 
im. Poor lad ! I know that father will be willing to admit 
im if he can pass the preliminary examination, but I know not 
ow it will be with the rest of the faculty. Some of the students 
lade it unpleasant for Neil. Such a fine fellow, too ! 

(Enters President Norton. He is a fine-looking old gentleman 
f sixty, ivith a saintly face. He carries a cane.) 

PrES. — Well. y\rthur, my son, any new applications? 

Prof. N.— Yes, a poor colored lad, who heard of our university 
own in Kentucky, and worked his way here in the hope of 
raduating from this university. 

PrES. — He had pluck, all right. I'm afraid well have a fight 
n hand, but I'll do what I can for him, for I'll never be the man 
3 shut the donr of opportunity in the black man's face. {Re- 
lies. ) 

llowe'er it be, it seems to me 

'Tis only noble to be good. 
Kind hearts are more than coronets, 
And simple faith than Norman blood, 
'ennyson never said a truer thing, to my mind. 

Prof. N. — I'm with you, father. My sympathies are always 
^ith the under dog. 



30 FiiTY Ykars of FrivIvdom. 

PrES. — Where is the candidate? 

Prof. N. — I sent him over home for some dinner. 

(Ben raps.) 

Pres. — Come ! 

Proe. X. — Here he is; father. You look like another boy sine 
you've had your dinner. Let nic have the e.xaniination sheets 
gave you. 

Ben (lia)ids llieiii). — I hope they're all right, sir. 

Proe. N. {excimiiics paper). — Excellent! Look here, fathei 
How's this? 

Proe. {adjusts glasses, looks over papers). — ?Te's been studj 
ing. His answers show considerable knowledge of these sufc 
jects. I'd be willing to admit him on the strength of these ar 
swers. {To Ben.) And so, my lad, you're very anxious to h 
admitted to this university, and you have no money, and cam 
here in the hope of working your way through? 

Ben. — Yes, sir. 

Pres. — Arthur, I think I'll step over to Professor Cox's roon 
Several of the faculty are there. {Exit Pres.) 

Proe. N. — Ben, tell me about your Miss Lou. What kind o 
a looking young lady is she? 

Ben. — Oh, she looks exactly like an angel, only prettier. Sh 
has long brown curls and big brown eyes, and the sweetest smil 
coming and going over her face all the time, and when she' 
talking to you her voice makes you think of the little singin 
birds in the woods. 

Prof. N. — Why. Ben, that's quite poetical. Did you say tha 
'^he is Colonel White's daughter? 

Ben. — Yes, sir, Colonel White's her father, and Mr. Robei 
White, lier cousin, is the one she's to marry. Aunt Rhoda say 
she never saw the man that was good eHough to marry Mis 



Fii'TY Years oi' Freedom. 31 

Lou, but Mr. Robert White's folks and Colonel White always 
been dead set for him and Miss Lou to marry. (Steps are heard.) 

.Prof. N. (sharply). — The faculty! (Throws open door to 
left.) Sit m here, Ben, and look over the magazines until they 
are through. 

(Exit Ben. Enter Pres. and members of the faculty.) 

Prof. Cox. — President Norton, I repeat, it is an outrage to 
admit another Negro to an institution like ours. We lost five 
students the last year Neil was here. I'm one of the oldest mem- 
bers of the faculty, and I think my opinion ought to have some 
weight. 

Prof. Weir. — It seems a shame to turn away any who seek 
3iigher education, but I am somewhat of Professor Cox's opin- 
ion. 

Prof. Minor. — It does not seem to me that the time has yet 
arrived for Negroes to graduate from our best institutions. 
Prof. Ward. — Professor Norton will speak for the rest of us. 

Prof. N. — Gentlemen of the faculty of Michigan's noblest insti- 
tution, I am here to plead the cause of the humblest and most 
helpless client an advocate could have. My client is a Negro lad, 
born in adversity and nurtured in poverty. From a Kentucky 
cabin he has worked his way hence and knocks at our doors for 
admittance. Should we admit him and allow his intellectual 
thirst to be quenched at our fountains of knowledge? He has 
nothing to offer us of this world's goods, for his ancestors gave 
to ours over two and a half centuries of unrequited toil. What 
contrast to our white students, who, for the most part, come to 
us from homes of wealth and culture, the sons of parents who 
do all within their power to stimulate them toward the goal of 
the highest type of citizenship; but my young client, without 
educated parents, or favorable environment, starts out to seek tlie 
same grand heights ! Will you close the door of hope in his face? 
Will you deny him his chance? Gentlemen, it was but yesterday 



32 Fifty Years of Freedom. 

that the shackles were burst from his limbs. Shall we refuse 
to unshackle his mind? 

(Part of the Professors say, "No!") 

PkES. — Is there any one else who wishes to speak? I will 
say that the young man passed a very creditable preliminary 
examination. 1 will now take a vote. All who are willing to 
admit the Negro boy rise. 

Prof. Cox (to Prof. Weir). — The Nortons run everything. I 
won't be obstinate. 
(All rise.) 

Prof. N. (shakes hands with all). — Thank you, gentlemen, 
thank you ! 

PrES. — Aye, you voted like men. It reminded me of the days 
of Garrison and Sumner in dear old New England. 

Pkof. N. (opens door of outer room). — Ben! (Enters Ben.) 

PrES. — Gentlemen of the faculty, the student you have voted 
to admit. What is your name, sir? 

Ben. — Benjamin Banneker Houston. 

PrES. N. — Mr. Houston, gentlemen. 

Curtain. 



^^ 



FlKTV YKARS ok J^-RKKDONf. ^^ 



ACT IV, : 

books under Ihcir arm^ \,« *oup of students u'ith text- 
^^ob^rt Ouden, R^lZ's^Z^ """"'^ '"'" ''^''^ 

Van Wert— I s-i\- it" 

*l'<-'t '" Texas, I tell you. '*^"'' ^"' anything Jike 

Ogden.— Well, we don> UL- ■. 

Van Wkkt.— Tile rlnrL- -i . 
^nmg to rain. "' ^'""''^ ^"'^ ^«^'^-ing. I g,,,,, .^,^ 

Or.nE.v.-Hello, coon! 

.".:•--! l<n.nv „l,„ ,„„ „.,. „„„, y^^_ ^^^^^^ 

I';: ","--^''--- '"' "■' ■'■■■« "- ^e„efi, „, ,„ ,,,.,„ 

«KN.-\ou are a cheap bully. 



you 






34 Fifty Years oi? l-'RKiawM. 

Vun. Ben ton»ds Van Wert. President Worton comes up. Other 
students disappear.) 

PKES.-Gciitlcmcn, what is the meaniuR of this disgraceful 



scene ; 



Van WivkT (/'<n«//«y to,,B en). —Xlm^.^ooih^hisuited irte. , ^:r.^ 

PRES-Cahu yourself, Van Wenrmc^^'^^g^^i^'^ '^^^ ^^'- 

niitted here Ben, I am surprised to hear Such' Ji complaint of 

..^ ;— ,v«;i// 'i^ ;' 
vou. ■ ' 

"- OGMrN.-^Thafs whatcume^^ of havin^ a >^e^?8MH'^tfieJ;uUh^r- 



sitv. 



'*^TKWART:^r hope hell he cxpciletf^at {>Vili?e. 
-PKiiS-Rest assured, gentlemen, the matter .hall be ^horouglily 
investigated. Come to the office^ttK'ine/^FloustOn. , ' 
{lixit President and Ben.) 
'van Win.T.-I guess' we've' got him in a pretty scrape at last.; 
We must stick together and get him expelled if we^c^m. ,^^. ^^ . 

OcuKN.-Yes he's getting entirely,toopron^nent^irou,.dhei;e. • 
Professor Norton makes a regular ^foor of him. ^ ^ 

SXEVVAKT.-It will\neyei;;dx>;fcvr; hi^v^o^ku^^ ^^^M ^^'S^^^ 
the trouble. Come on, let's go. _ .,^,,.. ,„.o. -,,> '.A'vv. /.\-.\'. "-•''^'■ 

, /^ ril st^idcnts. Enter Be,, .with.,P,PZ^'dh. o^ m^^^-^lP'^^ ' 

row worse.' ' _^ _^, Y _ .^.,q 

, ■ I r -, Prnfpssor Norton wilt "fair you. ' He 

■T""" I'^lvo^Anl™ Sim- y«V f..r. we ■..'.*■ o^ 

tb'inks so much ot you. rs.uu ^^^_.^ ^^ ^^,^ .^.^^^^.. 

Keimick, if- for nothing else. - ^ .^ ... ..,^,,.,,,, 

; aN.-JYes. as poor as 1 am, I would have, perhaps, given up 



Fifty 'Dear's of Freedom.' ,; 

tl^e idea of graduating from this institution 'hS~ it not beei/'fbr 
the encouragement given me Iw Pr^f ' xr " '- ";^^=^) *9.f 

Whenever the Profess ::e^,^tts f ''""^ "' -^ '^^^^^• 
and then he has been so ^:^^t^firZ^'^:-^'^^^- 
expenses. (£,.,.. /.,,;,,,,, A'o..... ^^ ""' '" P'''-^' '">' 

few^n^S"""' :'""""^^ ^^^^-^"-^ W..h.,,.see.Haust^,a 

J.o,vX.--B.,rj«minBanneker 1 iouston, vvhafs this I hlaHcif^ 
Wert '^'^■'^ -^'-"^- ^^--i" - row. insulted his' L^HsWp^^V^^ 
V\ert,and made a brutal attack upon him : besides' - -: H' 

REx.-Professor >ortpn; do ^ypu;^ 

Pi^or. >^.-Not often. TeH^meabot^t the whole' thing, Ben ^ 
HfJmZhi'V'l"^ '-een after me eversu.ce IVe 'been Hef6.- 
re tl r" 1^ " '' "" opportunity to taunt me ab6aV 
nn..,.ace,colo, .md,poverty._. ^:.haye,bonie,,it .patientlv. - To-dav 
o. .w,y io the astronomy dass,.,Yan Wert.mad, remarks.abput 
a^a,KxIoud^a^hen.^..,s I.came u^,, Ogd,n.,ay,ed me a copf 
Fd.an t say.u:ythn,s. : I simply IpQked.i^a,, Wert^n, th. ,ye,aud 
h. resented.t..u,d then Tcalled^him .,ci.e.p ^1, and he Su^ 
nie and the other fellows jumped on me too Of coursi 
defended myself the best I could, and I can't say but whatT w;s 
enjoymg the^ snuation, when President'' Norton atrived: 

f>^^. K. (Iauyj^s,^,^ju,t ahput.Xt- 1 'S^c^ugU'l^ai/Avert^ 
ather ,s v ery r,eh and Van Wert tries to take advantage of this' 
.a J to do as he likes A set of cheap bullies is a fit term for ffr^^ 
^'nd h,s assotiate5,for'^m^ney doesn't iniikd^hien. -^Beh^ ifs cfeir 
;'S^r ,^°"^ ;you Vorri 'Ben; ■ybu'V^^ dWrid ^8pd' wb^lc^^fei^^e^ 
W^ive bc^n here, and father- and I hi'e'^oing^^o s^^^ypl, ttfp,,gh. 
\\ ho else saw the affair?" : -: >:;,< . ;> ,, ,.,,. .", 



>K.V. 



-Powell anrl Hart were tliere. 



3(1 F)i-Tv Years oi' Frekik)m. 

Proe. N. — I'll see tliem. I think I can depeiul on tlieni to tell 
the truth. (Exit Professor NorloH.) 

(Ben zvalks slotvly and seems depressed. FMers Lawyer Neil; 
slaps Beii on the bdckl) 

l^EN. — Why, Mr. Neil, how did yon happen over to-day? 

Neil. — Oh, I must get over once in a while and see how iny 
Kentucky lad is making out. The fact of the matter is Ben, 
that all of us here at Baijanew are proud of the record you have 
made, and we wish to do something to show our appreciation, and 
I thought I'd start the hall a-rollihg by ejxtending a reception to 
you at our home Thursday evening; and, oh, yes, Mrs. Neil and 
Hdith will expect you ito dinner at, six on the same evening. If 
Rdith were older, and you hadn't talked so much of that little 
IJndy you left down in old Kentucky, I might be afraid to have 
jdu over so much. By the way, have you heard from home 
lately? I've b^en ^0|bus.v I've neglected you like everything this 

BEN.-!-Yes 'I hear from Aunt Rhoda and Miss Lou and them 
regularly. Colonel White, where Aunt Rhoda lived, is dead, my 
Uncle Jake is dead, my Cousin Sue's married. Miss Lou's beau, 
Mr. Robert White, is ntarried, and Miss Lou rnid my little Cousin 
Lindy are in England visiting "Lady Mary" as .\unl Rhoda calls 
her. 

Neil (whistles) . — Whew 1 Why, Ben, you're indirectly con- 
nected with the English nobility, aren't you? You spoke of the 
colored peo])le building a college there at your hoiue. Is it com- 
pleted? • ' ' 

Ben. — Yes, sir. They've put ug a line brick building with >tonc 
foundations on the very spot where the Ku-klux burn! down the 
old Cross Roads Church where the Quaker teacher taught, and, 
strange to say, she is back teaching colored children oh the very 
sp('t where she suffered ])ersecution. 



Fifty Years or FREErK)M. 2,7 

Xeil. — Don't call it strange, Ben. When "truth gets a hearing" 
mighty changes take place; and when any people have it in their 
hearts to rise as strongly as the Negro race, God will raise up 
friends for them on e\cry iiaiwl, and victory will he theirs. But 
f must be going. 

Bex.— r waiite.dytd,'ypeak/to/yp.u'about, a little .trouble I am in. 

i^krE.^¥f.oA|rlte?''''ei^ife;'tib tdybi\r't'6;:6liV^iV.d' t^ll^'fiie' all about 
it. That's the wa.v we lawyers make our living, you know — off 
(if other people's troubles. 

Cur haul. 



3^ Fifty Years of pRUiinoM. 



; ACT IV. 

Scene V. {Parlors of Lawyer Neil's beautiful home arranged 

for' a reception. Polins conceal an orchestra. Piano and 

. .other, appropriate furiiishiniis. Ben discovered alone. He is 

in a ivell-fitting suit. Looks zvell. P.iilers Edith Neil in a 

reception goivn. She is barely si.vteen. ) 

Ben (risiui)). — Well, Miss Hditli, li;i\c y(iU cume at last? 

Edith. — Alone. Mr. Ilouston? Hasn't papa come yet? Too 
bad he had to miss dinner, when he had phmned to have such a 
nice honr with you. Oh, the life of a jjrofessional man! 1 
wouldn't marry one for anything. Wm can never depend on hav- 
ing them when you want them. 

Ben. — I don't think I'd he hard to find. It's been so long since 
I've had a home, T think I'd wish to stay all the time. 

Edith. — That's what you say now, but men change after they 
are married. .„^ ,.- 

Ben. — Do they, little M]SiW,c«.l^^\^feeL3 1 can't imagine any 
one changing toward yoiJ^.^^^ \^'< i''^' j-o-" 

Edith. — Can't you? Don't try to flirt with me, sir. You col- 
lege boys are dreadful. Papa told me he believed yon were en- 
gaged to a girl in Kentucky. 

Ben. — Did you believe it? (Enters Neil.) 

Neie (shakes hands heartily with Ben: kisses EdilJi). — Run 
away, little girl. T wish to see Houston privately. (E.vit Edith 
pouting.) 

Neil. — \^'cll, Ben, my boy, you came out all right. 1 told you 
you wdiild. (lidti't T? Those fellows have had a bad record ever 



Fii-Tv Vkaks oi* Frkgi 



39 



since they landed here. Professor Norton 'phoned me about it 
this morning. He was very anxious about the outcome. 

• rBEN. — I know he was, but not half so much as I, right here on 
the eve of my graduation. Fortunately, Powell and Hart couldn't 
be bribed by Van Wert's money, and what they said exonerated 
me from serious fault. I lost my. temper, all right, and, as I told 
Professor Norton, when President Norton came up and I had 
Vau Wert down, I was enjoying the situation. 

Nkil. — It was time to lose your temper, I think, when three 
•fellows had' you down, pounding the life out of you. I went in 
for athletics a good deal when I was in college, and I was always 
in good trim for the boys. (Laughs.) Say, Ben, as long as you 
have selected la\y as your profession, I may take you in as a 
partner some day if you decide to settle here. 

,, Ben. — Thank j-ou, Mr. Neil. This is more than I deserve. 
^, (Bell rings. Enters neat-looking maid.) 

Maid. — A gentleman to see Mr. Houston. 

'-^'Neii,. — Tell him to come in. Come up to my den when your 
Caller'has'gotie;Bien,and let's finish building our air castles. 
(Exit Neil: AMd admits Professor Norton.) - « 

■iti -■"■.-'..' 

,., Prof. N. (/oo/i:i, rtroiiH</).— First tirne I was. ever in Neil's. 

IJang it! he's got everything in excellent taste. iLooks at pic- 
tures^) . He's got somp good pictures. 

; Ben (who has tisen). ^GooA evening. Nothing wTong with 
President Norton, is there. He wasn't feeling so well this morn- 
ing. 

' "Proi\ N. (shaking Beir's /ia»<i).— No, nothing wrong with us, 
But a telegram came for you, and, knowing'how attached you af'e 
to that old auntie of yours, as it was on my way, I stopped m 
with It. I hope there's nothing wrong with her, oi- Mrs. White, 
or anv of them. 



4*' FiiTY Ykaks of 1""rei:ix)m. 

BEN. — Thank you, Professor. It was very l<:in(l of yovi- (Takes 
telegram and fears it open nervously and reads. Smiles.) It's 
the best news I ever got in my life! Miss Loir and Lindy are 
back in Anierical They're in New York. Some one of Miss 
Lou's Englisli relations has left her a fortnnc; and they're coming 
to nly gradnationj and they're going to bring Annt Rhody 'too ! 

PRni*. 'N'.-^Is'''A'iiss'"Loi3 s li'iisDand' wifli'her^ "l mean Mrs. 
W'in'tc, of course. 

l'i;\. — Who said Miss Lou was married? They like to tor- 
mented (lie Hie out of her to have Mr. Roi)ert White, but she 
wouldn't do it, and Aunt Rhoda told me he'd married'oae of 
the Draine girls, and certainly had his match. u In,. .^^ ,. 

Pkoj-. X. — Miss Loll no't" mafHed ! ''Theh"\v'hy' did'ri't 'yoii'say 

so. ymi idiot ^ ■ ' , . ^ ..i 

Ben ( /;/ surprise). — Why, Professor Norton, yon don't know 
Miss Lou? {Aside.) I wonder if dear oUl Professor has lost 
his mind. 

Proi-'. N. — I know her so well that I never would have stayed 
away from her all of these years had I not thought that she be- 
longed to some one else. Miss Lou, my sweet little Southern 
rose! I met her in New Orleans, Ben, when she was just mtt 
of short dresses, and I loved her from the lir.st time I laid eyes 
on her. I was only restrained from speaking by a sense of honor. 
I was told that she loved her Cousin Robert, that they were en- 
gaged and would be married when she returned. When you 
first came and I asked you a few questions concerning her, your 
answers confirmed my worst fears. 

Ben. — Great Caesar ! what a plaything fate makes of us. This 
is certainly a great surprise to me. I hope you'll win her yet. 
I don't know any other man on earth who's good enough for 
Miss Lou. She's sent tne money several times since Fve be.en 
in college, and said it was a debt she owed Aunt Rhoda. Aunt 
Rhoda is her mammy, you know. 



Fii'Tv Ykaks ok Frkkdom. 41 

pROi*. N.— No, i didn't know that. When will they get here? 

Ben.^TIic telegram docs not say. Tt is from Lindy Roberts, 
my cousin, who went to England with Miss Lou. She says they 
will let us know when they arrive. Unless they wire me again, I 
won't know what train to meet. 

Proi'. N. — Oh, what cruel susitense! It" it were not Conunence- 
ment time I'd 'leave for X'cw York to-night. Well, I must go. 
{Exit Professor A' or I on.) 

Rux. — Oh, yes: I must go up to the den. 

{Exit Hen. Enter Edith Nell, .fiilia Storm, Ida Cain/^hell.) 

, Edith. — My first receptiou ! Oh, 1 know I shall enjoy myself 
.,tQ-night. ; Say, gidS;, how sweet you both look! It was nice of 
yon to come early. We've had such a time to-day. I told mamma 
it was a blessing she had taught me to work. The girl left last 
uight and Ave had a time finding sunie one to serve dinner. You 
kuow we .liad, .(Vlr., Houston for dinner to-night. 

*t> Tija'.— Oh;' flid ' yon ? That's why he couldn't come to play 
— '♦fe^nis. 

., JuLiA.^Edith, you mustn't set your cap for Mr. Houston. 
Yoa're just coming out. You're too young. You must give Ida 
iuid me a chance. 

vTlM-.T.- vlii : 

TtDiTH.-^I'd set my cap for him if I thought 'twas any use. 
Papa's just drkzy about him, but I'm afraid a Southern girl has 
cut us out. ' He was talking about her at the dinner table. She's 
in R«igland traveling with a white lady. 

Ida.— The idea ! Nothing but a servant girl. I should think 
he'd look~hig]ier. (Bell riiiiis several times. Music strikes up.) 

Edith. — Oh, our guests are arriving! Come, girls, let's see if 
everything is ready. (Exit girls.) 
. ' ' [(Enf'er'^r. and Mrs. .Veil, zvith Ben. Girls come hick and 
' fffi-ni a receifins. line. Enter f/uests.) 



Edith. — Dr., and Mrs. Lynch, Mr. Houstorv 
Tda. — Rev. and Mrs. Berry. 
■ JuuA, — ijiudgeiand - Mrs. CarnoIL ; - 
'Enrt H.— Mf . 'A lt)€Vt C^^iroll, our poet 
Julia. — Madame I^elpliine l^ewis, our vocalist. 

i=K.Diff:Ht:— And Uere is Mrs. GraiM. whose new book is making 
her so famous. 

Julia. — Professor Gibbs,'the' attist. 

(GUei'ts^''i^oH!if'foi'ivard ds lliey are Hkh-'ddiiced, arid seat them- 
scIt'cs ") 

■■ NEJL.-^Friends, it affords me muth i^l^asu'fe' to-^rght 'to'liaV'e 
'yoi1'WTeet''Our yo'i'tfig' guest, Mi'.'Benjamin Banneker Houston," for 
-whoHv r 'f)'red'ict asfeat in Congress if'he keeps on as he has 
•begun.' "(i'/z^rifM^rf apptaiise.) We W^Wo have watched Mr. Hous- 
ton from the time that he etltet^ed'the'ddo^s' bfdiir great uhJvef- 
■si^y knovYnthat :h?|,^y,as iiii;eve^y seiv?;^ -of th^ ,wor4: at -the foot of 
the ladder. His only assets were honesty, love of learning and 
a willingness to work hard. Scorned by many of the students, 
he went quietly' on His way doing good worl< in alf Of his classes 
and sustaining througlibut His colfege career ah unimpeachable 
record. Not only has he conquered the prejudice''bf the faculty 
aijd st^jdents, bijtiprthe mos,t,0art. ,he,.^as won-jheir; respect and 
,qdmiratipn.,,9S wel), .3i>d;hq|Will;i.represe\>t his university in the 
copiing.,,3it;ate: oratorical contest .this, fall. . {Applause.) This 
being the eve of Mr. Houston's, r graduation, I Have , a^sked ; yo« 
here to meet him and to rejoice with me that we have a young 
man of our race $o earnest, so persistent, so eloquent. I will now 
a.sk iCl'r. ' Hou'sldn' to "say'a word." (Applause.) 

Ben. — Honored Host, Ladies, and (j.entlemen,: From Cabin to 
;C,(j)ngr|^ss isa long stretch, but if Mr. NeJV? Rredicti^^ns are ever 
verified, that is the distance it \yill mean for me. I confess that 



Fifty Yeaks oi* FrEEuom. 43 

my aspirations hu\e not soared so higli as that. When T entered 
the doors of your great university, I had no well-defined thought 
of a great career, political or otherwise ; I simply obeyed the in- 
tolerable longing for knowledge, that had arisen in my soul, and 
sought to assuage it. It seems strange, but it is true, that it was 
the account of Lawyer Neil's own graduation, that T read in an 
old newspaper in Kentucky^ that gave. me, the determination to 
gf;t a college education. ( A /jplatisc.) .The yveamre of success 
that has so far attendetl my humble endeavors T owe to the teach- 
ings of my mother in our little Kentucky cabin. I wish ho higher 
life than the opportunity to serve my fellows. I thank Lawyer 
K'eil for this opportunity to meet some of the most cultured and 
gifted of my ownpeoprc, and I pledge myself tb-nlght to press 
fbrwarci'to^vard the highest achfevemeiit's within my' reach. (Ap- 
phuse.) 

Neil. — How do you like the ring of my Congressional timber? 
'We wifl-noW be 'f^vorecl witli a s6rig by Madame Delphine L^is. 
\Madame Lewis sings. Applause.) 

.,,i NjE;!];.,— MJss,,St,Qi;i-t),,,and,,,M?-'55r P^riip^'*^''' will f^iyor 115 with:,a 
jdupt,,^ ^jjO; surp.-,,, , 

(Jnlja afidjdgirphy-) 
■^^^■NE1L;-— Will Professor Harris give us a song? ^ 

(Professor Harris sings.) 

iti='BEN.^— I am not taking the place of themaster of ceremonies, 
*n!t i'f ' MisS' Editjh would sing— ^^-^ ^ "■; -"'■' 
'"'''Mrs.' NEiL.'^Sing my 'favorite, Edith. . 

„■ >{eil.— Certainly she will sing. (Edith plays and sinys.) And 
now^'iftlie orchestra' will' :^avor' us with a march, we wifl go to 
the dining room." Mr. Hqiiston, will you ial'e Miss Neil? 

,K (Quests. fAll.in lifie. rvhile inarch is being., plfiiyefl, and follozu 
Neil, Mrs. Neil, Ben and Edith off stage.) 

Curtain. 



44 T"iFT\- Vkaus nif FkI'.i'.ivjm. 



Sci; 



ACT \'. 

itNK 111. (4 pf-tvate sitting rooin ,in a hotel Miss Lou in a 
blaciy' 'tdii6r-inade\!:iotaf, h'tit dnd'olack'mou'hiing veil is 
stiiudiiiff ai the zviiidozc ' She is prcfiier than e-fe'r. Liudy, 
•^roivii z'ei-y pretty, is. sitylisUy, gowned. She rvalks nervously 

.around the, room anii occasi,ona,ll,y Iquks in the glaf<;s,). _. 

LiNM)Y,— 0|), Missi Lou, Trn ^p nerydus ! Just think, it's been 
aiuiost seven years since T saw Ren. Suppose he don't like me 
wlicn lie sees me. after being with all these pretty girls here in the 
North. Do you think I look as well as I did when he left home? 
He called me his little sweetheart Lindy the day he left. 

; Miss Lot/.— Is it-ppssilile that yon don't realize that time ami 
training have made yon a very handsome girl?, You foolish 
Lindy! .\nd then, if you were homely, your disposition would 
make you loved anyway. If Ben doesn't appreciate you after the 
way yon'vc worked and studied to educate yourself and be a fit 
companion for him, I shall be disappointed in him, that's all. 

( Enters Aunt Rhody ivilh z'arions articles of clothimj in her 
hand.) 

..Aunt R.^Miss Lou, I jus' wish you'd come np to m\'^ room 
and see how them ornery nniform men done tu'n my bran new 
trunk upside down and got my bes" black dress and everything 
else all mussed up. They ought to be arrested for sucii doings. 

Miss Lou. — I'll be there in a minute, mammy. Don't worry. 
The p<irters didn't mean to be so rough, I'm sure. 

Aunt R. — 'Course they meant it. They jus' natchually hate to 
see a colored person have a trunk like that. (Marches out an- 
grily. ) 

\jK\)\. — Oh, mv heart boats! 



Fn-Tv Yhaks or I^'reki 



45 



Miss Lor.— Tliat's love, Lindy. Th;it was the way my heart 
liul wlieii Mr. Norton used to come to the scliool to see his 
cousins. 

Ljndv. — Mr. Norton! What Mr. Norton? 

Miss Lou. — Oil, a handsome young professor from the North 
that 1 met at the school in New Orleans. 

' LiNDY. — Norton! Where have I heard that name? Oh, Presi- 
dent Norton and Professor Norton, Ben's friends. 

Miss Lou. — Tiiis was Professor Norton too, but it isn't likely 
that he is related in any way with Ben's friends. I see Ben 
didn't lose an\' time, iierc he comes now. 

Lindy. — Oh, Miss Lou! 

(Exit Aliss /.(HI. Ilntcr Bcii. He </iics one look at Lindy.) 

Hkn. — Wliew ! hut you're a stunner! {Kisses Iter repeatedly.) 
My caliin jjrincess, why didn't you tell me how handsome you 
h.ad .urown. so I would have known what to expect? Always 
writing tliat I would he disappointed when 1 saw you ! You little 
hypocrite ! 

LiNiiv (loo/cini^ up into his face). — .\nd you arc really not dis- 
appointed in me? 

Bkn. — Yes, 1 am disapi)ointed. 1 didn't expect yim to lie half 
so pretty and so well dressed. (Kisses her ayuin.) 

Ljndv. — I'm so happy, Ben. I have th<iught of you night aud 
day, and the x'ears seemed mi long., 
(Enters .-innt Khoda.) 

Aunt R. — I know you two ain't half through kissing, but 
maybe you'll get another chance Howdy, Ben, Mowdy! (Hugs 
hnn.) Oh, if Lucy Ann could see you in)w ! (Cries for joy.) 

(AJesseiii;;fr boy raps. Hands Ben message. He reads il.) 

Bkn ('/(/ Ih>\'). — .Ml ri.^ht. There's no answer. .\unt Rhoda, 



46- ■ FriTl'- YKaus f)i^ FiiKiln^M. 

yoii don't kivoXv Wowhappy- it makea-me'to sei-'ybu: 'You'fe^'ill 
t1*e mmlier IVCgot/'Vou IsiVd'U'. ' ""'■^ •<-^~n/ -i/. ■:■):•!,•/ •.. 

Aunt R. — You've been more like a son to me tlian anything 
else. When you would send me money 1 alv/ays told Miss 'Lou 
that I knew vou were robbine vourself. 

(Enter Miss Lou. She g.pe$,ifp and, fakes bcjth of,.Biin's.Jt.and^,\, 

Miss Lou.— Ben Houston, what a splendid specimen of man- 
ho'd'd yotl are ! 't sim 'jiroud' if yoiif' "'''■' <'•■/-- 'i.- .. 

Ben. — Ah, Miss Lou, I owe so much to you ! 

Miss Lou.--Nonsense! .Be ^gpod to this foolish Lin.dj',,\vho lias, 
tormented herself all the way from England with the thouglit 
that she would not meet your expectations. 

Ben {Looks at zvaich and then at {ci'indo'-t.v) -—l thinly she's in- 
a better frame of mind already, Miss Lou. Miss Lou, excuse us 
a few minutes. T want to take' Aunt Rhoda and Lindy aroUnd' 

the -block.- :■!!.;:; v n .<:' JM :*:■ :i)ti; ■''. ■! -■: ■\<:-:i\ ;!(i;;-j 

Kii'ss Loii.— t^e'rtCLinly.'' ''Mi(ce''it as"'pleasaht' for the;lrt"ar yoii 
can. Don t get the engagement ring yet. 1 bought one in- Lon- 
don that I think you will like. ; s ^od 

Ben.— Ali'nght," Miss ''Lou. ' I '^for^ot to te1r'y6u'''fhat '%ii'-rc 
looking fine. You re as rosy as a Kentucky peach. The sea vo.\- 
agfe- did you gdod. '■ ' ' -" .■ ■'■-'^Hiu\^.\'' ru; -;'- /-i:: 

Miss Lou. — It did us both good, and in more ways than one. 
My -mother's brother took such a liking lo-ime that ^he made me 
his heiress, and when my Lindy marries "Ti^'hairg'ive h'ei- a- nice 
little sum for herself. Run on now. No tini'e''fbi' pre'tty spee'ches. 

^'&t^-'{Ldoks '(iitt xvindoiv) .'-—¥:0, \Ve must go lat once.' ■ ' '" 
'{Miss Lou 'seats herself 'eft f>iaii(y ti'ri'drelttb'z'W h{ft' and't/eil''<ftt^ 
hcgins'io piay.-'Maid iltih-s'-ivit'Pr- dUy4': Miss Lou takt's card}) 

Miss Lou. — Arthur Norton ! Can it be I will sec the gen- 

tlemair-here'. {Exit inaid, enter Prof eh<)l- S'orion.)' '-■■ ■ 



Fitn'- Years of Fkekdom.' 47' 

^mv. Ny%eJ^eWdMg'hdnl^y.-^miss^ lAi^, ' -feV^ ''you f orgB^ten 

' ;i" 'If; MtiJJII ID.' j'j-.v ,'.'•!_■ 

Miss Lou.^No, but you Jiavc changed. Your; eye^ .are,,s^d 
and you have a moustache. 

Pkoi-. X. — And you wore your ha4r down and not up. Uh, dear- 
est, to think I have known Ben since the day he first came and 
never knew until he received your telegram tliat you did not 
marry your cousin Robert. 

Miss Lou. — Did you care? 

Proi". N. — Did I care? Oli, my sweet shy southern rose, yes; 
because I love you, and have since I first saw you and 1 want you 
for my own. Now that I Iiave you on my own territory you shall 
not escape me again. You don't love anyone else, do you dear? 

Miss Lou. (throu's anus about his iiCL-k). — 1 loved you too 
since that happy day in New Orleans, that is why I could not 
please my father and wed my Cousin Robert. 

Prof. N. (kisses hef~1ml•l^ds)'■:^h<i'<^i^^^x^d\y[ belie\e my ears. I 
have been hopeless so^^ojig, < Listen^^. t4ry.|Tt£will consent we will 
be married at once. I^'^i pal^jS, will;(sall 'aiiid take ymi to their 
home this evening. 

Miss Lou. — Married right away? What will i do wilii Liudy 
and Aunt Rhoda? 

Prof. N. — Ben graduates to-morrow night. I'ine fellow Ben. 
He has crowded eight years' work into his six years' chance 
He'll be wanting to marry pretty soon himself, and in the mean- 
time your humble friends can make their home witii us. 

Miss Lou. — Oh, how nice you are. That is just what I would 
like. Out of the fortune left me I had resolved to give each of 
these three loyal friends sufficient to give them a start. Manuuy 
I shall want near me as long as she lives. Her children would 
have to come here or she'd never stay. 



4<S 



FiiTY Years ot- Fkekimjm. 



Now will yoii name the day= *'• 

Miss Lou.-1 an, a. you^ n,ercy. sir. any tin.e you please. ' 

Curtain. 




Imitv Vkaks 0!- l"ki-;i:[)o\i. 49 



ACT V. 

Scene 7. — (Ben's liviiui room. He is at liii desk. Lindy is read- 
ing. Aunt Rhody is piecing a quilt zcitli blocks on the floor. ) 

I.INDY.— -How's yonr rhciimatism to-night Aunt Rhoda? 

Aunt R. — It don't liot'rer nie a bit, that medicine Li.^'e give mo 
helps me more'n anything' I ever tried. 

Lindy. — Lije is doing so well in his practice you should he 
proud of him. It's nice to have a Dr. White i:! the family. 

Aunt R. — Yes, yes that part's alright, but it's the tirst time I 
ever took any of his medicine in my in sides. Being proud of a 
doctor in the family ar.d letting him experiment on you like these 
young doctors do is two different things. But I sure have got 
lots to be thankful for anyhow. Sue's married to the minister 
and in her own home, Pansy and Louohenia's is leacliing and 
Lige is doctoring. Gladstone says tliat he's going to graduat." 
from his Cousin Ben's college and he's going to stay with Miss 
Lou 'til he graduate. 

Ben. — Wise Gladstoi;c, Prof. Norton will certainly see him 
through. 

Lindy. — The way Lige and Edith act f think there'll be a wed- 
ding before long. 

Aunt R.' — Can she cook? Lige is just as greedy 'hunt eating 
as ever. 

Lindy. (inischici-onsly). — I d^n't know, ask Ben; she was his 
girl before I came. 

Ben. — Don't you believe her Aunt Rhoda, Lmdy was the only 
girl I ever had. ^'es, she can cook of course not like \<m and 
Lindy, 



5o Fii-Tv YiiARs 01- Frkedom. " ! 

Aunt R. — Well, I can stand it if Lige can. 

LiNDV.— Hasn't Miss l.ou gut three hcautiful children? 

Aunt R. — What's the matter with yours? 

LiNDY. — Benjamin Jr. and Lucy ! Nothing, they are as sweet 
as they can be. I jus: i)ut them to bed, precious darlings. Ben. 
d(i you know what day this is? It's our tenth marriage anni- 
versary ! 

Aunt R. — Great head of the church, why didn't you say some- 
thing about it, so you could have had a brass wedding? 

LiNDY. — Tin wedding, Aunt Rhoda. {Hen laughs.) 

Aunt R. (stiffly). — Well, what's the ditlference? I'm sure 
brass is worth more than tin. 

Ben. — Lind\^ I confess I ha\ e been so busy during the last pres- 
idential campaign that 1 might have forgotten that I was mar- 
ried at all if you had neglected any of your wifely lectures. 

LiNDY. — Almost forgot you were married diil you? ( f^iills his 
ears.) Shame on you. 

{Bell rings. .Maid goes to door.) 

LiNDY. — I wonder who's coming. Turn on the lights. Mary. 
(Enters Prof. Norton. Miss Lou, Lazvycr Neil and tliose i^'lw 
were at the recepttion a\. Neils'.) 

Ben. — Why come in friends this is an unexpected pleasure, I 
am sure. Have seats. (Shakes liaiids with all.) 

Prof. N. — Yes, be seated, I have a word to say : 
Friends, some seventeen years ago, when our distinguished 
orator and fellow townsmen arrived at Bayview, fresh from a 
Kentucky cabin I had to plead to get him admitted to our Uni- 
versity. Step by step he has made his way, until he is acknowl- 
edged to be one of the most polished orators of the day. Not 
only does he excel in oratory, but his services in municipal and 



Fifty Years of Frfedom. 51 

state affairs have proven him to I)e a man of deeds as well. He 
iias thrown himself into every work of reform and shown himself 
a leader of men, it is therefore a very great pleasure to me to 
say to you that Mr. Benjamin Banneker Houston will represent 
Us in Congress, {cheers.) 

"Honor and shame from 

No condition rise, 

But we build the ladder by 

Which we rise, 

From the lowly earth to the 

Vaulted skies, and we climb 

The ladder round by round." 

(Cheers.) 

Miss Lou.— Ben, Lindy, I am so glad for you. 

(lUESTS. — Speech, speech! 

Ben. — Friends, fellow citizens. I would not be human if at thi.s 
lu.ur 1 did not feel my breast throbbing with patriotic pleasure at 
))eing chosen by my fellow-men to represent th€m in some of the 
affairs of state. I feel unworthy of the great honor conferred 
upon me, but since you have bestowed it, 1 will try to show my 
gratitude by good hard earnest-work. 1 feel that I have a three- 
t'lilfl part to play, first as a representative oi mure than ten mil- 
lions of Negro citizens, struggling for life, liberty and the pur- 
suit of happiness, next as an American repre.senling the entire 
boundary of the United States, and then as a part of the law- 
making bodies of the grandest republic on earth, (cheers.) 

(Band f'lays Atncrica.) 
Ben. (zcipes eyes). — And my fellow-citizens, I thank you for 
the recognition that you have given me as a black man. We love 
our country. When she is in danger our men march to the front 
and bare their bosoms to the enemy's as freely as do the white 
men, and in times of peace we are equally as law abiding, all we 
ask is a man's chance and we will prove to you that we have with- 
in us all of the elements that go to make up the highest type of 



DtC ':^ -yio 



52 Firrv Vkars of Frkkdom. 

American citizenship. As 1 look around nic to-ni;.^ht, 1 lonk in- 
to the faces of several who have helped to shape the current of 
my life. Aunt Rhoda who took me in, and sharcvl her cahiii fare 
of ))acon and hoe-cakes with a motherless lad. Miss Lou, who 
\v;is niy Sunday school teacher and friend, my wife wdio lias in- 
spired within me the deepest reverence for the women of my 
race, and Prof. Norton and his father and Lawyer Neil, who 
made it possihle for me to go through college. 

[ would say to the young men of my race that there is hope 
for them. No matter how discouraging things may look at times, 
lionesly of i)urposc and hard work will win out. The Providence 
which takes me from the cabin to Congress, -ill smile on all who 
put their trust in God and do the Right 

Curtain 




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